Destination: Middle earth
by Sterling silver
Summary: A girl falls into Middle-earth. An ex-Mary Sue under rewrite to preserve the canon. Suggestions welcome and appreciated; please read and review.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's work; it owns me.  
  
A whole lot of you read this a year or two ago. Well, guess what? I've returned. Isn't that awful? I've been putting revising this thing off for a whole year, too ashamed to look at it, too ashamed to face myself and say, "Yes, I wrote a Mary Sue." One or two astute reviewers noticed that way back when, and they commented - well, here's what one or two reviewers, and a change of heart, can do. A re-reading of Tolkien's work helped. So, I'm rewriting this for two reasons. One is so the PPC don't come after me *laugh! One reader threatened this, and had it not for my rewrite plans I would have let them happily!* and the other, more importantly to me, is so I can redeem myself both as a fan and as a writer. I began this when I was eleven years old. I've got two more years under my belt now, and I'm working to clear up the mess I left behind when I was "young and stupid," as my History teacher laughs. Thank you to all my previous reviewers, namely the one who, in an almost- flame, called my attention to the nature of the previous version of this story. Thank you to the most recent reviewer who prompted me to actually get off my couch and rewrite this. Thank you to Tolkien for being brilliant and sharing your brilliance with the world. I owe you, bigtime, and I'm sorry for screwing with your work like this. Without further ado, since I usually hate long Author's Notes, here we go.  
  
Prolouge  
  
I sat in the corner of the room, chewing on my pencil. The meeting of The Frodo Fans and Lovers Club was going to begin in two minutes. It was to be a chaos-filled two minutes, of course; the members of the club, fifteen and sixteen years of age, were mostly all assembled, running around screaming in high-pitched voices about nothing in particular, swooning madly over pictures in magazines featuring Elijah Wood, writing sappy fanfics, and giggling in the way that only teenage girls can. I was watching them all, feeling out of place as always. Mine was a different membership, I supposed. I was the youngest of the group, a mere thirteen years to my name. And yet they came to me for their information far too often: what befell Frodo in Mordor again? or what happened to so-and-so where when? I had insisted that they try and find the information somewhere in the pages between some cover of one of Professor Tolkien's works before asking me, but usually his way with words was so far superior to their own that his meaning slipped by them in a puff of smoke. There was no denying that it often did the same to me, but I was hell-bent of learning at least a little of his greatness. Yes, I, too, was a Frodo fan. And yes, I, too, had to acknowledge the overwhelming, er, hotness of Elijah Wood. But before that I bowed to his acting skills . . . which, being considerably greater than mine, had portrayed Frodo in a nearly inhumanly possible fashion. Never close enough to exactly; nobody but Frodo could do that; but given the script he had been I thought he'd done a great job. Many of his little gestures had matched the Frodo in my head; just little things. I forgave my way around the bigger things somehow. I was a Frodo-the-character fan instead. And I thought I loved him; for his strength and for who-knew-what. Perhaps for the same amount of light that Sam had seen in him . . . and my existence as a hormonal, newly-turned-teen girl had messed with my brain too much. I was cut off mid-thought by the leader of our group, who was standing on a chair now, saying something about calling our meeting to order. She should have been a judge instead of a fan club leader if she wants order, I thought dryly. Suddenly, the floor fell out from under our feet. We all fell through, screaming wildly. We would have been screaming even louder if we'd known where we were heading, though. We were falling through a portal to middle earth . . .  
  
Very short, and I know the topic's been done. So what, I don't care. The next one will be longer, much longer. I hope, anyway! Reviews are welcome; flame away! 


	2. Chapter two

Disclaimer: Not mine. Nope. Wah. Note: I'm using movie-descriptions because the fangirls need to be able to recognize Frodo. Sorry about that.  
  
Chapter two.  
  
We fell all in a heap, with a thump, onto a wooden floor. Picking ourselves up, our heads knocked into the ceiling of the house we were now in. I looked around, and was convinced I'd seen this place somewhere. It looked strangely familiar; the quiet coziness of it . . . the place exuded a sort of comfort, from the floor to the construction of the low ceiling. We heard footsteps, and then a semi-familiar voice calling out, "Goodness, Sam, what did you do this time? I do hope you haven't broken anything. . ." his voice trailed off as he came into the room where 12 confused Frodo fans stood. He was about 4 feet tall, with dark brown curls and sapphire eyes. He wore no shoes, and instead had hair on his feet, for warmth no doubt. The whole club of fans stood silent, shocked. We knew him, and the reality of where we were slammed into our minds like a Mac truck. We hadn't just fallen into someone's house. We were in the Shire, Hobbiton to be exact. And we had fallen through the roof of Bag End, owned by Mr. Frodo Baggins. I tried to bring myself back together, although my heart and soul had just been picked up by a tornado. Frodo Baggins, the hobbit I wrote fanfic about, the hobbit I was in love with . . . I gave myself a mental slap, cleared my throat, and stepped forward. The other fangirls seemed like they were in a trance, still trying vainly to cope with the shock, and thay stood there quite still. "I'm sorry, uh, Mr. Baggins," I said. "We didn't mean to fall here, er . . ." I looked back at the group. They looked like they were beginning to snap out of it, and the danger of what could happen was evident. "Frodo," I said, losing the apologetic tone, "I think you had better run. Run away. Right now . . ." "Why? Whoa, hold on a minute, how do you know my name-" "Just RUN!" I yelled. He didn't have to ponder why for more than another instant, because the 11 fans behind me suddenly snapped, and pandemonium broke forth. 11 screaming, yammering fangirls charged at Frodo, yelling things like "Frodo!" and sounding like any other fangirl with a "you're-so- hot!" teenage girl thing. Frodo took my advice. He ran. Unfortunately for him, his pursuers were fast, quite fast, and as he reached the door and bolted out of it, they were close behind him. I wasn't worried yet, though. I liked to run and I was good at it, and I had at various points in time outrun some members of our group. None of them were particularly speedy- but, of course, those races had been staged without the addition of hormones. I ran out the door after them, and passed the fans, whom I no longer wanted to have anything to do with. Had I really associated myself with these . . . creatures? I caught up to Frodo. He looked at me with fear, and tried to run faster. "Frodo, no, let's just say they're crazier than I am," I panted as I ran. "Come on, let's get you out of here, away from them . . ." He nodded, breathing heavily as he ran, obviously quite tired, his shorter legs moving in a blur. "Just trust me, ok?" I said, and he nodded again It was plain that he didn't, but he could see it was either me or them, and I guess he found me to be the lesser of the two evils. "Here goes, then . . ." I said, picked him up, swung him onto my back, and dashed into the nearest forest on the side of the road. When I was very little, a bully chased me around the playground for most recesses of the year. By the end of the year, I was faster than he was. Now I worked hard; the weight of Frodo on my back was considerable, and I was tiring. I knew that once I got us out of sight of the obsessed teenage girls behind Frodo and I, I could pull something tricky and escape, seeing as they'd be making a lot of noise as they ran, and weren't moving too fast. "You're sure- that - you're not -part- elf?" Frodo gasped, his sentence breaking every time I jumped over something. "Because I've- never- heard of- anyone other- than an -elf- runing- like this." "Dunno," I replied. "Just taught myself to run, that's all, I think . . ." I stopped talking because I realized that for all I knew I could be part elvish. Anything remotely Lord of the Rings related seemed to be possible now. No, I shook my head. It might seem possible, but no way was I part elf. It was possible here, not wherever I came from. "No," I amended aloud.  
  
Suddenly, I stopped. I could no longer hear the crashes and other telltale signs of clumsy people crashing through the forest. I had a possibility to get Frodo out of there. "C'mon, if we get a little farther we can get out of here," Frodo said, realizing what I had noticed. We'd managed to leave the fangirls behind for a little while. "There's a river up there, ahead of us. If we reach it, and follow it up a ways, we'll come back to Bag End, by the back way. Then maybe we could lock them out or something . . ." But as he spoke, he remembered the random arrival of his "guests," and figured that they might be able to get in some other way. "Actually, Frodo," I said, "I don't think they'll be able to get in. I've got a long story behind all this, but going back to Bag End is a good idea: with any luck they'll get lost, and they're not bright enough to figure out we might go back to Bag End. Where do I go?" And, following Frodo's directions, we got back to Bag End. Shortly I set him down, though, and we walked a ways; for though speed was clearly a virtue I was too tired to carry him any longer. He looked rather grateful to be on his own feet, I noticed. It was then that I realized something. I was somewhat of a runaway, and the person I was running away with, regardless of what we were running from, was Frodo Baggins. Who I dreamed about at nights, envisioning his face tired and worn throughout his journey, wishing I could say just three words to him: " I love you." But now, I wondered what he'd say if he heard me say those words. And I decided to keep my mouth shut for a while. 


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: It's not mine. Flame away. Those with particular canon expertise: Feel as free as you want to correct me to death. I could do with an education. I'm trying, though; really I am!  
  
Frodo and I sat at his table back at Bag End. He'd made himself some tea- I didn't want any, though he'd been quite the gentlehobbit in offering. I was trying to figure out how to explain to him that he was a character in some books, and a recent semi-passable movie, which was how the club had gotten its information. "Well," I began, fishing around in my brain for words. "How long has Bilbo been gone?" I blurted it out, not knowing at all why I'd just said that. Frodo looked confused, but replied, "About 10 years. Why? And how do you know Bilbo, and how do you know that he's gone?" 10 years, I thought to myself. Let's see, that would make Frodo 43, and he's what at the start of the quest of the ring? 50? That would mean . . . it hadn't happened yet.  
Oh shoot, I thought. "Something's gone wrong . . ." I didn't realized I'd said that out loud until Frodo said, "What do you mean, something's gone wrong?" "Um," I said awkwardly, feeling very stupid, and feeling like sooner or later the twilight zone music would be cued in. "Where I - Where I come from, there are books written about you, about," I swallowed, "Middle-Earth. But it's all supposed to happen later in your life. And - and I'm not supposed to be here at all. That means that something went wrong- the books of your life are written before your life takes the turns that it takes in the books, and- only so far your life is following the patterns of the books . . . and I get this feeling that I probably shouldn't tell you any of it, because you're probably not supposed to know what happens before it happens . . ." I realized I was babbling and I shut up before I could give anything else away. I looked over at Frodo to see what he was thinking. I expected disbelief; I expected . . . . well, I wasn't sure what I expected, but it wasn't acceptance.  
He looked, actually, like someone had just run him over with a mega- jet on the runway. He was shaking his head, as if trying to clear out confusion, and had suddenly gone very pale. "Wait . . . whoa. Hold your horses. . . I am in a book? And you're trying to tell me that you know what's going to happen to me later in my life?" He looked as though this were the nightmare of his life, and, I supposed, it was, since the malevolent designs of Sauron were not yet moving.. I nodded, not entirely sure what to say to help him out. "I'm sorry, for some reason, I . . ." I was rambling, making even less sense that he was, and he was the one with the huge amount of information to take in, I mentally chided myself. Frodo cut me off gently. "No," he said, "You're not at fault, I just . . .well, I don't know. I'm just confused, I wish Gandalf were here, maybe he'd know what to do- this strangeness might be the domain of a wizard." "Yeah," I said wistfully, "Gandalf would be helpful; he would at least be wise, and have some counsel to offer." Frodo looked at me oddly, and then said, "Oh. You have read these books, then? Gandalf was included in their story?" I nodded again. "Yeah, and that's how those crazy fangirls knew you, and how I knew you. We've all read the books, and they're all, er, in love with you." I didn't say that I was in love with him too. Hey, I thought, desperately trying to reason it out, I'm in love with him, but I'm sanely in love with him. They're madly in love with him. Oh well. Let it go, Laurelyn, I said to myself. I figured I wouldn't even try to explain the movies.  
Frodo raised an eyebrow at me, and I wondered if he'd heard my thoughts. "Those creatures were fangirls?" he said, not seeming to like the taste of my odd term for them. "Well, that explains their actions, I suppose." He looked very uncomfortable suddenly. I, meanwhile, breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't figured out what I was thinking. "But how on earth am I going to get away from them next time they find me?" he asked, with a heavy sigh. "I don't know," I replied. "Run like heck in the opposite direction from them? They're not really very bright." I amazed myself with how my opinion of the other Frodo fans had changed. I'd never gotten along very well with them, but now. . . now I absolutely loathed them. Probably because of the whole start-screaming-like-an-idiot-and-run-after-Frodo thing. But Frodo had a point- they were still after him, undoubtedly. And I had no good idea of how to get him away from them next time they showed up. "Got a better idea?" Frodo shook his head, looking like he was having trouble understanding me, and I realized that my modern colloquialisms probably were confusing. I wondered in a flash how on earth I was managing to understand him - what about Westron? But I pushed that aside to think about later. Then, slowly, he said, "Well, I could always disappear . . ." "How?" I wondered. "This ring I've got, it . . ." I promptly cut him off. "NO!" I half-yelled it out. "That's, well, not going to work that great," I said, softer this time, trying to amend my outburst. The Ring! I hadn't thought of it. We didn't want to use the Ring any more than we had to . . . . "Why won't it work?" Frodo said, seemingly beginning to be annoyed. "You don't seem as though you are able to suggest anything much more effective!" I put my head in my hands. In a strange, twisted way, I knew more about Frodo than Frodo knew about himself, and it was easily understandable why he didn't like it. But I couldn't tell him anything about his future. "I wish Gandalf would come back from his little research trip," I sighed.  
Frodo looked up, and realization dawned in his eyes. "This ring," he said, "it has something to do with what will happen later, doesn't it?" I nodded, miserable because at this rate I might as well tell the whole story to Frodo, rather than make him figure it out himself. But people aren't supposed to know their destiny too early, are they? Not event for event, anyway, because then they might try to change an embarrassing moment or something, and then the outcome of the future could be totally rewritten. And in Frodo's case, that could mean that the Ring could get back to Sauron. "Yes, Frodo, it does," I said miserably. "I shouldn't be here, my presence might mess everything up, everything . . ."  
Now it was Frodo's turn to sigh. "Well," he said, "something happened. You are here. And so are all those fans. And . . . I think at least the fans have to go back where they came from," he said. I wondered why he didn't say that I would have to leave, but dismissed the thought. Right now, I wanted to protect Frodo from the crazy fans, and see what I could do to keep myself from dooming Middle-earth with my clumsy words that could give away the future. "I think that Gandalf would be a help," I said. "He's supposed to be the wisest of - he might know something about how the fangirls and myself came to be here. Or at least, maybe he could help us figure it out. I don't know! Anyone's advice would be a help." Frodo nodded. "Yes," he said, "Gandalf would be a most welcome presence.. If only we knew where he was . . ."  
  
Yay! A plot, or sorta one. Anyway, please review! Tell me what you think of my work! Flames will be used to cook Frodo's food for him! Thanx. ~the Author 


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I've said it before and I'll say it again! Lord of the Rings ain't mine!  
  
Author's note on the disclaimer: It's not mine? Oh yeah, it's not . . .damn. Wait, and that means that Frodo isn't mine either? Oh, censored censored!!@#$^%&*(! *starts crying hysterically*  
  
The poem is also Tolkien's.  
  
  
  
Extra challenge: find where the girl's name is from in Tolkien's stuff. That's not actually where it came from, I used it for my self-insert alias for a long time, as in before I read LotR, but see if you can find where it's from. ( ~the Author.  
  
  
  
"Argh!" I yelled in frustration. "For the life of me I can't remember if either the book or the movie said where Gandalf went! I wonder if they even did say . . ." Frodo looked sympathetically at me. "I wish I'd brought my copy of the Fellowship," I sighed. I had been spending the past hour trying to remember where Gandalf had gone, other than on a "research trip" about the Ring. "I can't remember, Frodo, I really can't," I said, quietly and sadly. "Something about a library, I think, and near Mordor, I believe. . .wait, no, that was in the movie, it could have just been Hollywood . . ." Frodo now looked quite confused. "Never mind," I said hastily. "My best guess is in Minas Tirith somewhere, but don't count on it," I finished. "And what else do we have to go on?" Frodo asked. "I haven't seen or heard from Gandalf in a few years, maybe if he's not there they'll at least have tidings of him. Or along our way. I don't know, we really do need Gandalf's counsel here. But I suppose that's why we're looking for him . . ."  
  
I stared at Frodo, surprised. "You really intend to go all the way to Gondor just on my guess?" I asked, incredulous. Gandalf's words from the Fellowship of the Ring rang clear in my mind. "Hobbits really are amazing creatures, as I have said before. You can learn all there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet after a hundred years they can still surprise you at a pinch . . ." Frodo seemed determined to find Gandalf, and he was willing to leave on a quite long journey to find him. "Look," Frodo said. "There are 11 fangirls after me, you're stuck here, and from what you have inferred you might very well give away information by mistake that could cause the doom of middle earth. Now, if it wasn't for the fangirls, maybe we could just have you keep your mouth shut and let things go as they're supposed to, but there are now 11 seriously crazy people running around the Shire, and I really don't want to know what kind of damage they can do. Yes, I really do intend to look for Gandalf. If anything, it'll confuse my, er, stalkers." He finished his sentence, and cast a nervous look around the room to all the windows as if he was afraid that his 'stalkers' were listening.  
  
"Well," I said, "If you're going, I'm coming with you." He smiled. "I wouldn't be going anywhere at all without you," he replied. I wondered then what he meant. Once again, I thought that maybe . . .no. Not a chance that he'd ever love me. It was hopeless and I knew it, and so for the second time I dismissed the part of the words he'd said that held a hint of caring. "Although I warn you even if I do know what's about to happen, which I'm not really certain of anymore, but if I do know, I might not be able to tell you," I added. Frodo nodded. "Yes, that makes sense. If something is supposed to happen to me . . .and changing it might mean the end of Middle-earth as I know it, then yes. Let what is supposed to happen, happen." He did not know then what he was pledging himself to. Because I had no way of knowing what would change things and what wouldn't. Once time moved into the realm of the books, everything would have to happen. Everything.  
  
"All right then," I said. "It's a good distance to Minas Tirith, Frodo. It's up to you when we leave, but my suggestion is soon." Frodo nodded again. "Then we'll be off soon, Laurelyn," he said. "Soon, as in tomorrow."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The morning dawned bright and clear. Frodo and I had packed up food, and clothing, and some old daggers of Bilbo's that we decided to bring in case we met trouble. Both of us had ponies that Frodo had apparently bought at some point in time before I came. I figured that J.R.R Tolkien just hadn't bothered to mention that oh yeah, somewhere between ages 33 and 50, Frodo had a couple of ponies. Real plot point that would've been, huh? But as we tied the last few things onto the ponies' saddle bags, I wondered if maybe he didn't have ponies in the books. Oh well, I'll never know, I thought. Frodo jumped up onto his pony, and I followed. My pony was a bit short for me, but I couldn't complain, it was better than going on foot. We walked down the road from Bag End, just as the sun rose up. No one knew that we had gone.  
  
  
  
The road goes ever on and on  
  
Down from the door where it began  
  
Now far ahead the Road has gone  
  
And I must follow, if I can  
  
Pursuing it with weary feet  
  
Until it joins some larger way  
  
Where many paths and errands meet  
  
And whither then? I cannot say.  
  
  
  
Reviews are welcomed, flames will be sent on to Mordor and Sauron knows where you live . . .  
  
Thanx so much to all the wonderful people who HAVE reviewed (hint hint to those folk who haven't).  
  
WaterShadow- why do you want to know how old I am?  
  
Queen Greenleaf- I'm glad you liked it. I liked your "A messed up love hexagon with one side missing," fic, too.  
  
Elf-gurl- I just did write more. Ya happy?  
  
The potions mistress- ditto from above, glad you liked it.  
  
Kotetsu109- glad you like it. What is Tenchi, may I ask?  
  
And everybody else who reviewed before chapter 3, thanx for reviewing! 


	5. Chapter Five

Ok, here's chapter 5! Sorry it's taken so long. Oh, and I lied in my reviews thingy. They probably are gong to end up together, as in in love . . . Not anytime soon, I don't think, but I'm warning you ahead of time. And I guess I am falling prey to the Mary-Sue virus, sort of. Sorry. Now w/o further ado, chapter 5!  
  
Oh yeah, and the disclaimer: I don't own it, ok?  
  
We had been riding for a few hours, and the sun had risen to the top of the sky. Frodo had said little. He seemed afraid of the knowledge that I had of his future, and afraid that things weren't going as they were supposed to. But he had every reason to be afraid, I thought. How would I feel if someone I didn't know dropped into my world, accompanied by some crazy fans who were in love with me, and then told me that my timeline was all messed up? I wouldn't be happy, anyway.  
  
I wondered what would happen on our little journey to Minas Tirith. Frodo had stopped questioning how I knew things, and just took for granted that he had a "Prophetess" along with him. But the truth was, all that I knew was what had been in the books. I knew nothing about what was happening now, and I had no idea whether or not our journey would be peaceful.  
  
We had left the Shire a little while ago. I had gotten to see things that I had never thought I really would: like the Hedge, and the Old Forest off to the side. We'd taken the Road; I figured Frodo would most likely see enough of it later in his life. And also, I didn't have a key to Merry's secret entrance. So we took the Road, as it wasn't really necessary to hide our departure, although we did receive some strange looks. The other hobbits we had passed seemed to be surprised at seeing Frodo Baggins with one of the Big Folk. Of course, with Bilbo's reputation for being strange, it wasn't too unfathomable that Frodo should be strange, and un-hobbitish as well.  
  
I felt bad for putting him in this position, even though I knew it hadn't really been my fault that the fangirls and I had fallen into Middle- Earth. And I also felt guilty for hiding my feelings for him. I knew that I would be looked upon as another crazed fangirl if he knew I loved him, but as it was Frodo I loved, he did have a right to know . . . . One of these days, maybe once this is all cleared up, he'll know, I promised myself. Oh, Frodo . . . my thoughts faded off.  
  
Frodo looked over at me, and for a minute there, I was afraid that I had said something out loud. But he didn't seem to have any idea of the debate that was going on inside my head, because he said, "Laurelyn? Er . . . is it lunchtime yet?" I laughed, as food had been very far from my mind. But hobbits did like food, and of course Frodo would be hungry. "Sure," I agreed. "Now's as good a time as any for lunch, and if you're hungry, Frodo, then we have all the more reason to eat."  
  
Halting the ponies, Frodo and I had lunch; or rather he had lunch and I had a drink of water. It was a habit of mine to skip lunch, and I saw no reason to discontinue the habit. I'd eat when I was hungry. Anyways, that meant we'd have more supplies to last longer. As Frodo finished his lunch, I picked up our stuff. The sky was gathering clouds, and I wondered if it would rain. I hoped not; that would make traveling miserable if it did, and we'd most likely end up stopping to get out of the weather. I did not like that idea. I hadn't told Frodo, but I really was afraid of what could happen because of the messed-up-timeline issue. I wanted to reach Minas Tirith, and quickly, to talk with Gandalf about this issue. I was pretty sure now that that was where he was, too; I could recall vaguely something in the appendixes like that.  
  
Having finished his lunch, Frodo got up. He saw me looking at the sky, and said, "Is it just me, or does it look like there might be rain?" I nodded. "It's not just you, Frodo. I'm thinking we had better hurry along and make some distance in case it does rain." He picked up the last of our things, and tied them back onto the ponies. "Yes," he said. "We should try and go quickly, and hopefully reach some stopping point or shelter, either by nightfall or by the time this rain comes, whichever happens first. It might not even rain, but it's better to be safe than sorry." He pulled himself up onto his pony, and I couldn't help but think that he was so cute . . . I gave myself a mental slap on the face, and mounted my own pony. Riding forward, we set off once more.  
  
**Later**  
  
  
  
The rain clouds that before had been a rather distant threat were now ugly and dominated the sky, turning it black, save for the occasional lightning bolt knifing through, and the menacing rolls of thunder following. It had grown cold, and Frodo and I were both riding as quickly as our ponies would go. I was shivering, and Frodo looked as though he also could do with a sweater. I wished I'd brought one for him, but we had nothing in the way of warmth.  
  
No sooner had I thought this than a large raindrop splattered down onto my face. "Frodo," I said, "It's started raining . . ." He looked like that phrase had been the straw that broke the camel's back. "Oh," he said. The rain started to fall harder, and within seconds it was hard to see through the falling water. "I see what you mean," Frodo added dryly (a/n: sorry, bad pun). I was soaked through, and Frodo was, too.  
  
Dimly through the sheets of rain I could see a light far in the distance. I was about to point it out to Frodo, but he beat me to it. "Laurelyn," he said, "I think there's a light ahead." "Something . . ." I replied, and shivered again. I hated being wet and cold, and all I wanted right then was to be warm and dry again. But I won't take comfort if Frodo isn't warm and dry as well . . . I have to put this love out of my mind, I'm driving myself crazy, I thought. We urged our ponies forward in an effort to get to some sort of shelter, but as we did so, the light ahead flickered and went out. Desperately, Frodo called out, "Laurelyn, there's a tree over here, it's raining less under it . . ." "All right," I replied, and I followed his voice. As I rode under the boughs of the tree, I could indeed feel the rain lessen to just an occasional drop. Looking around, I could see Frodo now than rain no longer blurred my vision. He had dismounted his pony, and he stood on the ground next to the tree trunk. He looked like he'd been thrown in a lake; his dark curls were waterlogged and his clothes were soaking. I got off my pony as well, and walked over to him. "Well," I said, "I guess this is where we're waiting out the storm."  
  
After we ate dinner, Frodo leaned against the tree. He looked exhausted, and he was shivering violently. I felt bad for having warmed up. I watched as Frodo's eyelids slowly closed, and he fell quietly asleep. Frodo . . . I love you, I thought. He still shivered, and, lacking anything dry to warm him up with, I sat down next to him. Wrapping my arms around him in an attempt to warm him up, I could feel his heartbeat. I had to resist leaning over and kissing him. I love you, Frodo, I thought again. And I fell asleep, my arms around Frodo, with those words running through my thoughts. 


	6. Chapter Six

Well, well, here's part 6 to all you who are waiting for it. I have one thing to say to some of you folk who sent me emails and/or reviews:  
  
Anyone who sent a friendly message, thanx a bunch! I appreciate it! Especially Watershadow!!  
  
Anyone who sent a "You're only 11 and you're writing romance???!!!" letter *coughflamecough* that is not as er, kind and censored *cough* as the above example: Well, if you don't like it don't read it! Nobody's forcing you to. Kids gotta grow up sometime, and anyway, what do you flamer folk know about me? Let's just say my years are few, but I've loved and I've lost . . . .  
  
Right then. Having ranted and raved and deleted the offending messages *Ahem*, I now present you with Chapter Six of Destination: Middle-earth. Here you go!!!  
  
Disclaimer: I have said it before and I will say it again: I don't own LotR!!!!  
  
Oh, and as I forgot to say it last time and it resulted in lots of fuel for my cooking fire: Reviews are wanted, flames are NOT!  
  
  
  
I woke the next morning with my arms around Frodo, the same way they had been the previous night. He was still asleep, and seemingly hadn't moved at all. It looked like he had finally warmed up. Very gently, I tried to remove my arms from where they were without waking him, but to no avail. Frodo's beautiful eyes blinked, flickered open, and he looked up. "Laurelyn?" he asked sleepily, and then as he looked around again he blushed, and pulled away from me. "You were cold . . ." I stammered, feeling like a fool. "I . . ." "That's all right, really," Frodo said, and the subject of how we'd fallen asleep- me with my arms wrapped around him- got dropped.  
  
I made breakfast for us, and then packed up our supplies. I'd used up what I could salvage of our non-waterproof stores, and so everything else that we had left would survive rain, snow, wind, Balrogs, and a trip over Caradhras. Although I wanted to face none of those difficulties, if I could help it. Once we were ready with all our few traveling belongings, Frodo and I set out once more.  
  
It occurred to me for the first time that we were heading more in the direction of Rivendell than Gondor. I pointed this out to Frodo, and he nodded. "We might as well stop there first," he said. "That's what I thought . . . can't hurt, can it?" I agreed, but I wondered quietly to myself if it was a good idea. Maybe Frodo wasn't supposed to get to meet Bilbo again until the War of the Ring . . . Heck, Laurelyn, if you go on like this you might as well stop and stand still where you are for the rest of your life. I laughed at myself, but it was uneasy laughter at the thought that decisions I made now could shape the history of Middle-earth.  
  
Frodo looked over at me, as if he had noticed my unhappiness. "What is it?" he asked gently. I coughed. "Nothing," I said. "Just walking on a yet-undug grave." He didn't ask for me to elaborate on the meaning of that. I wondered if he perhaps understood what I meant, with my odd reference to the future. I coughed again, and wondered if I'd caught a cold from being rained on the previous night. Oh well, I thought. It could be worse.  
  
We continued on for many more hours. Every once in a while, one of us would say something, and upon hearing Frodo's quiet voice, I would again wonder whether or not there was a chance he'd like me . . . love me. A few words kept running through my head, no matter what I tried to do to keep them away. [I]I love you, Frodo . . . I love you, Frodo . . .I love you Frodo . . .[/I]  
  
And I realized that my attempt at trying to hide my feelings away was failing. Failing fast. Very fast . . .  
  
  
  
Sorry that was short . . . I'll do better next time, I hope. 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Please don't sue me, LotR isn't mine!  
  
A/n: Okay, hopefully this'll be longer than the last one. Anyways . . . um, I know that they must have been pretty well out of the way to be heading to Rivendell instead of Minas Tirith, but I don't really care, they're going to Rivendell first.  
  
Dedication: This chapter is for WaterShadow and Zephyr, for your persistence in reading this and getting me to update the thing. I'm SO sorry it took me so long, really I am. And also: Thank you for reading it and liking it, geez, I didn't know I had fans! It means a lot to me. Hantalyë!  
  
  
  
We had journeyed long in silence that day, and the next. We'd passed through Bree, but we hadn't stopped long there. We asked for news, though. Nothing seemed important in the current happenings, but for one odd thing: There was talk of a "disturbance" in the Shire. I wondered what that could possibly be, but I didn't think that it could be a threat. The thought of the fangirls we'd left behind popped up, but I brushed it off impatiently. I wanted to get going, and reach Rivendell as soon as we could. At this rate we'd need more supplies before crossing the Hithaeglir, and I also wanted Elrond's advice for our situation. I didn't want to linger anywhere either, for fear that I might be noticed more than just being "Oh, hello" -ed, and that someone might ask questions I couldn't answer, like where I was from. The last thing I needed was to give Frodo more information that could screw up the War of the Ring later. Frodo. I was having enough trouble keeping myself from going crazy; it was just too much, almost. Knowing that now was NOT at all the right time to say anything about love, not under the circumstances which I had come to Middle-Earth under, with the rest of the Frodo Fans And Lovers Club . . . and anyways, there was no way anything could work out between us, or so I kept telling myself. But, oh, Eru, I loved him so much! It was around mid-afternoon, and we had stopped by a stream to rest and let our ponies drink. Frodo and I talked some; small talk, which I was never any good at. I felt like a liar, almost, trying to keep my mouth shut, and not say anything I shouldn't. The sun was bright, and the sky was blue and nearly cloudless . . . it was, to put it simply, a beautiful day. Nobody had ever told me Middle- earth was this pretty, that was for sure. Suddenly, after a moment of silence in our conversation, Frodo spoke again. "Laurelyn?" he asked me. "What?" I answered. He seemed almost afraid. "Laurelyn, I think we should get out of here . . ." he continued, and stood up. I had no idea what the problem was, but by now he was shaking, and I thought that there must be something wrong, even if I felt nothing. I stood up also. "Come on then," I said. Grabbing our bundles of food and throwing our saddles back onto our mounts, Frodo and I were quickly back on the road. And suddenly I was reminded of the scene in the movie where Frodo had known to get off the road right before the Black Rider approached. His intuition couldn't be all that bad; I had no idea what had frightened him, but I was glad I had trusted him. Then, out of the blue, everything seemed to ripple: The scenery, the road before me, Frodo, and everything shook. I heard a loud crash like a cymbal clanging in an orchestra from somewhere behind me, and someone screamed, probably me. And just as suddenly as it had changed, everything went back to normal. Frodo looked at me, and I looked over at him. "Do you have any idea what . . .?" I began to ask him. Frodo shook his head. "I've no idea. All I know is that I knew we had to move away from where we were . . ." He was still shaking, although now it seemed to be more from surprise than fear. At the mention of the stream we had left behind, I turned around to look and see if anything had happened to it. Something had. There was no stream, no rocks, no nothing. The quiet little clearing we had stooped in was gone; in its place was solid forest. I gasped; we should have been able to see the spot from where we were, it had been right by the road. And from the look of astonishment on Frodo's face, I supposed he must also see the absence of our resting place. And now it was my turn to shiver. What on earth - what in Middle- earth was going on?  
  
*Grins* What is going on? Review and tell me what you think of this chapter, maybe, please, pretty please with a cherry on top? Flames will be used to cook gourmet food for my beloved Frodo; anyways, if you're going to flame, please tell me what it is that you don't like, otherwise there isn't much I can do about it for you. Thanx! ~The Author. 


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